


You're My Religion

by DesertRaven



Series: Hope is a Dangerous Thing [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angry Warrior of Light, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, I can't write fluff I tried, Soff Zenos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertRaven/pseuds/DesertRaven
Summary: Prompt from The Book Club: "Zenos does something that somehow ends up upsetting WoL but can't tell what or how or why. WoL won't tell him either (or maybe doesn't know why they're upset). So Zenos, at the end of the day (or however many days), can't take upset/pouty/silent WoL anymore and just gives up and decides to hold/cuddle/anything fluff and soff to WoL hoping that'll help WoL feel better and that's how they make up(?)"
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Series: Hope is a Dangerous Thing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041852
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	You're My Religion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryuseistreamgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuseistreamgirl/gifts).



> Prompt from The Book Club: "Zenos does something that somehow ends up upsetting WoL but can't tell what or how or why. WoL won't tell him either (or maybe doesn't know why they're upset). So Zenos, at the end of the day (or however many days), can't take upset/pouty/silent WoL anymore and just gives up and decides to hold/cuddle/anything fluff and soff to WoL hoping that'll help WoL feel better and that's how they make up(?)"

The chronometer on the wall ticks loudly, maddening in the silence. She’s angry. Zenos can feel it filling up the room, an impressive feat considering the sheer size of the royal suite. She doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be here either, but he has long since grown accustomed to this act with his father. Travel to Garlemald, sit through a sufficient number of events or meetings to remind everyone he exists, and then return to whatever he was doing before the interruption. He would have thought she would be accustomed to such things. 

Or perhaps it is the location itself she objects to. Although they have settled in Ishgard together, she does not care for the cold and snow, and Garlemald is far more frigid than Ishgard. She hardly moves from in front of the fireplace.

Perhaps the people. Garleans are notoriously prejudiced against outsiders, and her horns and tail make her an oddity. She does not like being stared at, but how could the people possibly be expected to ignore the prince’s little dragon? The angry lashing of her tail and the way she bares her teeth like a beast does not help. Despite being the Champion of Eorzea, she was made for battle, not for politics or the royal court.

And perhaps it is the presence of the Ascians. Souls zos Galvus, or Emet-Selch since the former Emperor has passed, and Elidibus, plotting and scheming with the Empire as their pawn. They offer cooperation, but refuse to inform anyone of their plans. And she, as the Warrior of Light, has every reason to be suspicious of them. The few interactions they’ve had have not gone well.

And none of this explains why she will not speak to him. Why she sits in front of the fire silently stewing in her anger.

“Do you want to come train with me?”

“No.”

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him when she responds.

“Hitting me might make you feel better.” 

He’s trying to make a joke, but the strain in his voice is apparent. He doesn’t like that she’s in this mood, and likes it even less that he can’t tempt her out of it.

“Zenos.”

He bites back the urge to snap at her, knowing that will only make the situation worse, and instead opts for leaving her to it. He rises from his own seat and goes to the bedroom to change into something more appropriate for training. She’s still staring sullenly into the fireplace when he leaves the room. Both of them are being a bit childish, but neither one of them is terribly adept at talking about their feelings.

The invitation - it’s a summons, really - to dinner arrives while he is out, and when he returns to their rooms he finds her at the mercy of three other women, all pulling and prodding at her as they get her dressed. She’s practically snarling, which would be amusing if she wasn’t already so damn angry. He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, and watches until she catches his gaze in the mirror. His smirk sets her off and she does let out a snarl, drawing a startled squeak from the youngest of the handmaidens. It briefly crosses his mind to wonder who they pissed off to get stuck with this duty, and, quick on the heels of that, to wonder if this was Varis or Solus’s doing. Zenos shakes his head, still smirking, and makes for the bathroom to get himself ready.

She’s a vision when they’re finished with her. It isn’t that he’s never seen her in a dress, but the floor-length gown - Imperial colors, likely to spite her - looks stunning on her. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen her hair and face made up fully. But what really brings out her beauty is the fire in her eyes; she looks ready to kill someone, possibly him. He’s not seen her burn so brightly since Ala Mhigo, and the intensity of it makes his chest ache.

Zenos opens the door for her, fully intending to offer his arm to escort her to dinner, but she brushes past him without a word and he’s left to trail after her. Looking like that, he would follow her anywhere.

As soon as they enter the dining room, she’s on edge, wound so tight that Zenos is legitimately concerned that she might snap. And she isn’t the only one. He can tell not a word has been spoken between the three men already within. Varis has always worn his tension like a mantle, so Zenos is unsurprised to find his father standing rigidly by the sideboard with an untouched glass of dark liquor in his hand. The ice has melted completely, he can see the separation between the water and the alcohol. Solus slouches lazily some distance away, nearer to the table and the other Ascian, who stands beside him in white robes and red mask. All eyes are immediately on the Warrior.

It is all Zenos can do to keep himself from putting his hand on her, base instincts demanding that he make some outward display that she is his. But she would not welcome it, and she does not need him to defend her.

Solus sweeps across the room to greet her, and she lets him take her hand in his gloved one, but Zenos can see the barely-suppressed sneer on her face when he kisses the back of it. She isn’t fooled by his act, but she has enough self-control to allow him to lead her to the table.

The entire affair drips with the former Emperor’s theatrics, the seating and the food and the conversation all orchestrated by him. He pays no mind to the obvious tension in the room. Her quiet seething grows as the meal drags on. Zenos tries to comfort her, once, putting his hand on her leg, but she removes it quickly. The exchange does not go unnoticed by Solus, who seems to find the whole thing amusing.

The moment it is reasonable to do so, she’s out of her seat and leaving the room without so much as a backward glance.

It feels like hours later when Zenos finally returns to their rooms. Unsurprisingly, he finds her curled up in front of the fireplace. He settles behind her, cross-legged on the hearth, and moves to hold her. She shrugs off his touch with an irritated grumble as soon as his hands are on her.

“I know you hate it here.”

Silence. Angry, frustrating silence.

“Say the word and I’ll put you on an airship back to Ishgard tonight.”

“Zenos.”

He knows she can’t. She feels obligated to be here now. Because of him. Because of the Ascians. Because she is the Warrior of Light. He closes his eyes with a sigh.

“Will you at least talk to me?”

“I have nothing to say.”

That’s a lie. She thinks louder than anyone else he knows, if only he could read her mind.

“Fine.” He wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his lap even as she squeals in protest. She’s strong, but he has height and weight on her, so there’s little she can do when he stands up and carries her into the bedroom. “I’ll just hold you until you feel better.”

She groans as they flop onto the bed. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Would you rather I kill the Ascian for you? I’ll even let you watch if you like.”

He kisses the top of her head, then her forehead, keeps going, planting sloppy kisses all over her face and head until she starts giggling.

“You can’t solve all our problems with a sword, Zenos.”

He kisses her nose, then leans back slightly to meet her eyes. “Are you sure? I feel like I can.”

That makes her laugh and she smacks his chest playfully. After a moment, she buries her face in his chest and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been miserable to be around.”

It doesn’t matter to him. No matter how angry she gets, or how bad her temper is, there is nowhere he would rather be than at her side. He tightens his arms around her, wishing he had the words to express how much she means to him.

“I love you.” He whispers the words into her hair. It isn’t sufficient to express the depth of his feelings, but it will have to do. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. He’s heard her say it enough times that he knows. But he repeats himself, again and again, whispering the words against her lips as they meet his. Whatever comes, she is his and he is hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Screech at me on Discord! [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/K9PW9qv)


End file.
